


The Darkness

by Red_Rogue



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Arkham Days With A Twist, Human Experimentation, Humiliation, Kind of dark, M/M, Sensory Deprivation, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-04 09:04:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16343882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Rogue/pseuds/Red_Rogue
Summary: Every time he tried to bring the his happiest memories back and relive them they were always missing that one particular touch. Since whatever they had done to him, Jason couldn’t see and he couldn’t smell and his sense of touch was dulled. He was scarred for life.





	1. Chapter 1

He wasn’t sure how long he had been there. Months? Years? Decades? Jason tried to shift around to feel his surroundings. But something around his wrists held them above his head. He tilted his head back trying not wince at the pulled neck muscle.

The ever present darkness that surrounded his miserable life now was his only comfort and fear. To be so trapped within his mind. His own mind torturing him with memories that no longer held the life and colors they once did. There were days when Jason desperately willed to bring them back to life.

The smell of the ridiculously expensive coffee morning that always wafted through the mornings in the manor that Alfred brewed.

The way the stars at night sometimes lit up through the smog and the city lights.

The ever busy bustling on the streets, people always running around not noticing their valuables being repossessed.

Every time he tried to bring the memories back and reliving them they were always missing that one particular touch. Jason’s eyes shut, a deep sense of loss sang through his soul. Since whatever they had done to him, Jason couldn’t see and he couldn’t smell and his sense of touch was dulled. He was scarred for life. He didn’t know what they had done to him but he knew one day he’d make them all pay.

* * *

“This is experiment number JR12” a man with a deep voice and foreign accent said walking around the table.

After being another inmate’s punching bag, Jason’s broken and battered body had been dragged into another part of his prison and strapped face down onto a cold table. He could hear the his captor, his blonde bimbo and the man muttering to each other by another side of the cave. If he could and if had any left Jason would cry.

They had brought him here so many times before. His mind had left him with fewer and fewer memories of each event.

No anesthetic

Blood

Cold

Metal

_PAIN_

 

“NOw we’re even Doc!” the vile human abomination cackled. His voice carrying through the caves causing Jason to wince slightly. He wondered what exactly they would do to him this time. The man, even though called Doctor was probably not a man of healing. Instead from all the experience Jason went through. He was probably the kind of man to heal things to only break them again until they couldn’t be fixed anymore.

The man came over and from what Jason could see through one of his black eyes was the Doc staring right back at him. The Doctor smiled, Jason wanted to bite his fingers off as he carefully stroked his bruised face. Whispering to his test subject the man leaned forward,

“Thank you for your contribution JR12 your willingness will revolutionize the human sensory system” Jason blearly stared at the man, anger making its way through his body, giving him enough energy to whisper haltingly

“Fuck... off” through his swollen tongue.

The doctor smile got even brighter “Your stubbornness may prove to be your greatest strength. You are not the first to have this honor but you will not be the last. Begin stage one!” The man called standing straight, ushering Harley and the fucking clown away. A prick went through Jason’s arm and recognized it as a sedative as the little vision he had started to blur “Be good for your Uncle Hugo!” Harley’s piercing southern accent echoed through the caves was the last thing he ever heard.

“Bruce” he prayed silently “please...save me...”

* * *

When he first regained consciousness the first thing he wanted to do was scream.

The pain across his back felt as if they had blow torched his back and then gave his a round with the Clown’s favorite toy.

He gasped clawing at the ground stuck in place, he couldn’t force his body to move let alone scream through all the signal of hurt, pain and anguish sang through his veins. A blinding white pain was constantly cresting over like waves on a beach. His breath was ragged, his hands curled into fists, his body shuddering from all the agony.

A large hand held his arm and a brief prick later he fell back into the sweet clutches of darkness.

* * *

That was last memory that Jason could remember before they had finished their experiment. Whatever they had done to him had worked or at least that’s what Jason thought. He in what he considered his own personal hell. After the pain had subsided he was taken back to being a punching bag for whoever the Batman had caught and sent into the pits of Arkham.

Granted Jason couldn’t feel as much pain as he had used to he wished he could and he couldn’t see exactly who was beating him. But Jason wanted something to remind him that he was alive and not as helpless as he used to be. It was a great game to the others he’d think. Whenever they were able to punish him to a point that they could hear his screaming and see his tears.

Jason couldn’t even feel if or when tears rolled down his face. But he knew that they were there somehow and they weren’t tears of pain. They were tears of the bitter truth the Clown and Harley had instilled in him from the very beginning.

No one was coming.

He was theirs until the day he died.

How he’d wish bitterly night after night, beating after beating that death would come sooner versus later.

* * *

Instead of being able to sense whenever the Clown and his Harley would walk in with their new toys, and be able to brace himself for it. They’d now simply smash him with it with whatever organ they thought would get the best result out of him. It filled Jason with anxiety and a constant panic, not knowing when or where something who come and suddenly begin to start bashing him as an outlet for their joy or anger.

Jason wanted to scream and yell curse at all of them and he wasn’t sure they ever did. When ever they’d hurt him to a point of breaking the person being, Harvey Dent or Scarecrow or Penguin they’d stop for a fraction of a second before beating him even harder.

* * *

And then there was the bare minimum of food they gave him to keep him alive.

In the beginning they’d throw his rotting food in bowl just barely out of his reach and dance around him for hours as Jason would desperately reach for any small scrap. Now, they played a vile and cruel game with him.

A person he always assumed Harley would come in kicking him in the stomach and then pat his belly. Jason quickly learned that it was her signal that it was time to eat. And that he was suppose to shuffle around on the floor on his hands and knees in his darkness just to find the scraps. He gained at least 10 new scratches and bruises every time they fed him by running into the walls or some jagged rocks.

Sometimes though what he found wasn’t food. The ex robin was convinced they put more rocks in his food than actual things he could eat. He couldn’t feel if it was soft and mushy or hard, the only way to find out was to try and eat it. Jason wasn’t sure who came to watch the spectacle every, what he assumed, 4 or 5 days. But the rocks that he could feel hit his body from all different directions had to come from more than just a single person. And the different hands that slapped him if he came too close to anyone of them was an indicator that it was another show for Joker in this freak circus.

* * *

And this is how his life of hell simply was.

They’d kick him awake or throw something over him to tie his hands up. Sometimes someone would come and wash him down and then dress him back into what he assumed was his tattered costume.

At least 3 people came in and beat the living daylights out of him. His signal that it over was someone unhooking his hands and leaving him alone to stew in his pain.

And then they’d let him fall asleep until Harley or the Clown decided to do a special viewing or event with him. He’d stopped praying for the Gods to send someone to save him. But Jason knew down inside there was no redemption for people like himself.

* * *

There was one very special event though, his last one. He woke up to Harley smacking him across the face. He could tell it was her by her sharpened nails and spandex glove. They left him alone for a small while and then suddenly came the sharp stinging across his chest that rained down what felt like hundreds of blows.

After what felt like days they stopped. After another session of silence and anxiety over what could come nest he was hoisted on a flat service that positioned him vertically. They must have strapped him down because he couldn’t move. Joker had never pulled a stunt like this before.

Jason could feel himself start to fill with more panic as he could feel a growing heat near his cheek.

A blinding pain

And then Nothing.

* * *

Something stirred Jason from his unconscious state.

A hand touching his face.

Jason did his best not to wince for the blow that usually followed after this mocking hope that he had been rescued. They had done it to him before, caressed his face held him close and then tied his hand up to have their fun.

Jason blinked up to the ceiling with his blind eyes. The person stopped rubbing his face and brought Jason’s hand up to something.

They guided his pointer finger repeatedly. The person was making him trace something over and and over again.

He didn’t understand what it meant.

 

No one had made him trace a pattern over and over.

 

It took Jason Todd exactly three minutes and 14 seconds and 18 traces until it finally clicked.

 

A bat.


	2. Chapter 2

Bruce watched the city of Gotham, his city pass by through the tinted windows of his limo. Last night had been very disturbing. Oracle had contacted him telling him about an illegal ship entering Gotham bay but never docking where it should be. 

* * *

 

“How the hell did we miss that Oracle?” Batman growled into his comm as him Batgirl and Robin flew through the night to the caves under Arkham. By a stroke of luck the boat had filed a plan to enter Gotham tonight.

 

“B-we didn’t see the signal because someone’s written some genius level coding concealing the boat from the security Arkham patrol.” O’s voice echoed through the boat. Tim stood up muttering  “I can’t fricking believe we didn’t see that boat earlier.” 

 

Bruce would offer comfort but there was a mission to focus on. As Batman there was no room for emotion. Batgirl stood up and gently rubbed his back as O gave him some solace. There were only two objectives for this mission figure out who hired the boat and finding out what they were after. 

 

“The boat has docked at the caves, it leaves in 15 minutes. Drop zone coming up in 2” O said taking control of the plane and opening the doors. Bruce turned around giving a stoic nod to Robin and Batgirl both of them giving a final check of their equipment. 

 

They glided down onto the beaches of Arkham island landing on the sand a silently as they could. Tim indicated with his hand 

 

‘Boat, 300 feet,ahead’

 

He nodded and they made their ways to the boat. 

 

‘Stop’ he signaled as a large spotlight came searching in their vicinity. They all pushed flat against the cliffs, hiding in the darkness waiting for a break in the lights.

 

With a flick of the wrist they scattered again

 

They flew across the sand, in the direction of the boat.

 

He jerked his head towards the boat, Batman took his position of keeping his eyes scouring the horizons for any danger or threat closer by the cave entrance. While Robin carefully snuck on board of the boat. And Batgirl outside of the boat hidden in its shadows as another look out. 

 

Tim immediately started analyzing the scene. And the first thing he saw was a really really ugly bucket. Like someone had taken a 5 gallon bucket and decorated it with sharpies and what looked like glitter glue. He sent Babs a basic scan of the bucket while he’d look around some more. The winter breeze nipped at Tim’s nose, Damn it was cold.

 

It was a relatively simple boat. It had an advanced motor which allowed the maneuverability needed to doge the spotlights. Clever. The boat was not meant to hold lots of things but it was sure a lot of effort to even get it here for it not be here right now on purpose. It also meant that someone had a base close by for it to go back to, which Tim stored away for later. 

 

The only other thing of some importance was a hidden tablet. Tim picked it up and started downloading whatever secrets could be exploited from it. As the file transfer continued on the Tim flipped through the its contents. ‘Well that was easy’ floated through Tim’s mind as an electric shock short circuited the tablet. Tim dropped the thing onto the ground. Shit. Tim leaned down to pick it back up to see if anything was still salvageable. 

 

“Robin, I’ve found something there’s a skull in that bucket.” Babs said her keyboard clacking in the background.

 

“B, O thinks I found something” A confirming grunt came across the comm. Tim rolled his eyes behind his mask. How on earth did B manage to write reports when all it seemed he did was grunt at them? 

 

B landed silently behind Tim. Tim reached over and pulled the lid off. 

 

Oh god… that _smell_. 

 

Death… Tim felt his stomach do a flip. B pulled out a small light and they looked inside. Oh god. 

 

It was a face. Not just any face a face that was rotting, one their eyes was dangling out its eye socket, and a large ‘J’ on its forehead, drifting in a bloody stew of other organs. 

Tim made a mad dash to the side of the boat. After the dry heaving spell, Tim regained his composure and  watched B contacting Babs.

 

A bucket full of what looked like a single person. What could someone have to possibly gain from this? B took a sample from the bucket. He watched as Cass carefully pulled herself up onto the boat, taking the lid from his hands.

 

“The blood testing will take a while but from the scan Tim sent me it looks the bone structure suggests a Male, Caucasian, age 14. His remains suggest he died almost a week ago from a wound to the head.” Babs reported

 

That ‘J’ though where had he seen it before? Tim looked down at the lid in his hands, someone had carved into the plastic a letter ‘J’. Wait a second…

 

“Hey O is Joker still in Arkham?” Tim cut across B’s and O’s discussion of theories. 

 

“According to the list of inmates he was admitted last week when you took him back after stopping his party of balloon bombs.”

 

Only a week ago and Tim would wager around the same time this kid had been killed. “Do you guys remember what Joker said to us when we were carting him back here?” Tim looked at B they were both drawing the same conclusions. 

 

Joker’s last words floated into their minds which means. “Joker did it, he’s behind this.” Tim looked up at B, “Joker had this kid kidnapped and then killed him in a fit of rage after he was recaptured. Then Joker puts them into the bucket and hires a man to hide the buckets to cover it all up.” “If that’s true Robin then then we know that there are others” O’s voice crackled through the comm “We need more information. Oracle figure out exactly how many times this boat has filed a plan.” B commanded.

 

“Already on it. B it looks like there have been 8 different time across the last 4 years” Babs said.

 

The silence was deafening. 8. 8 people they’ve failed. Eight people dead because they didn’t figure it out in time. There was no time to dwell on the past. 

 

“Where would Joker hide all these people?” Tim broke through the silence “Arkham is secure, the entire place is covered by security cameras. We made the the system to cover every floor on the blueprints” 

 

“Robin, those were the blueprints when Arkham was remodeled, those weren’t the originals” O started “The originals.” Crap, how could they have forgotten about the originals? “Give me two seconds.” Tim looked up at Batman, no outward emotion. Never was when they were out in the city or on the job. 

 

Tim lifted up his holo-wrist-projector displaying Arkham’s schematics. “There was a lower wing in Arkham’s original design” O pointed out while a brighter blue light highlighted the wing under the building they knew today. “But then there was a massive amount of rain that year causing flooding, so the wing was never opened because it was too expensive to repair.”   

 

“The wing, it’s in the caves” B interjected pointing out towards them. “That’s where he must be where he’s been keeping them all, in the collapsed basement of Arkham.”

 

Tim shared a look with B while Batgirl looked up at them. 

 

“Let’s move”  

 

* * *

Bruce remembers each event clearly, yet it felt like the entire evening had blurred together. 

 

He remembers how inside of the cave there were 4 other buckets. How each of them decorated more horribly then the last. And how they stopped to take a DNA sample of all the buckets and place a tracker on them but kept moving into the darkness. So many lives so many people lost. 

 

He had taken up Batman to save people but the now 12 people who were dead by Joker’s hand proved him wrong. But the worst was yet to come.  

 

After fighting their way through an entrance guarded by prison inmates they found the worst of it. Cages. A butchering table stained red with what could only be assumed with blood. There was a cart with 2 more human bodies by the table and another bucket on the floor that had not yet been decorated, thankfully empty. 

 

How they had walked though what looked like a torture chamber. Hooks hanging from the ceilings, an operating room, a supply room that looked as if it was storage for all their torture devices, and several rooms full of cages that were stained with blood. Each cage was carefully documented in hopes that the DNA could help them figure why Joker had kept them all there. 

 

When they had fought the last of the inmates guarding the area they found a single child in the darkest of the caves, in critical condition. Bruce remembers how he dared to hope that it was the boy that he remembered, that Nightwing had never stopped looking for. A boy with black hair and blue eyes. The boy had several injuries to body it was impossible to see if it was Jas….  

 

He had rushed to the boy and pulled him into his arms, the boy barely conscious as he took their hand in his. The J on his face brand new, if only he had come the night before and stopped it all. 

 

They had called the police to raid the rest of the caves, knowing it would be in good care under Commissioner Jim Gordon. And immediately rushed the boy to Doctor Thompkins’ clinic, where they put him into emergency surgery. 

 

After she was done nearly 5 hours later she sent them out, telling them that the blood work needed more time for testing. Bruce pulled the cowl off of his head. It would be a long night of reports, DNA analysis and nightmares to figure everything they had seen out.

* * *

The night had been bad. Cass had seen it first hand how shaken Tim was after finding the first bucket. And then how his attitude went from hopeful to desperate to find a single person still alive. The ways people could hurt each other was growing more and more expanse in their minds. 

 

She stood in the Batcave, toweling out her hair from the long patrol. Tim was still at his work bench. She could tell that the night had taken too much from Tim. She walked over gently touching his shoulder. When he turned Cass took one look at his tears and pulled him into her arms. 

 

Tim buried his face into her shoulder. The night had been displayed what evil humanity was truly capable once again. He secretly couldn’t help but hope that the young boy they found was his Robin, the person he’d always aspired to be, the missing Jason Todd.

* * *

The Bruce sighed as he Alfred held open the door of the limo into Leslie Thompkins’ free clinic to her office. He carefully listened as the Doctor Thompkins listed off the many injuries of the Jas-the boy in Gotham Memorial Hospital.

 

“He’s got many broken bones, a collapsed lung, badly healed ribs, malnutrition, internal bleeding and so many other countless injuries. We don’t have the equipment to be able to support a person with this much damage to his system so we had to move him to Gotham Memorial as John Doe” Doctor Thompkins read off her clipboard and looking up at Bruce.

 

“Not to even mention the psychological effects, the burn scar on his Face. With all these issues he’s going to need a good support system after he’s discharged from the hospital” She concluded.

 

Bruce looked at the boy on the hospital bed in his File. He was covered nearly head to toe in medical bandages and casts. The poor boy, who knows how long he had been under the Joker’s imprisonment.  

 

“Did you test his DNA?” The million dollar question that had kept him up all night. Had kept them all up all night. A silence filled the room as Leslie struggled to tell him the Father the truth.

 

The Doctor set down her glasses onto her desk. Taking a deep breath she said “Yes.”

 

“I tested the DNA three time to be sure.” Her eyes full of sympathy as she kept her composure. But Bruce already knew what she was about say.

 

“It’s not Jason Bruce, I’m so sorry” 

 

The words still stung Bruce even though he had anticipated them. He resolved to not allow any emotion to drift onto his face. His son was as dead as he was years ago. Nothing had changed, it had been a fool’s dream to even hope that Jason was still alive somewhere. 

 

Bruce stood “Thank you for your report Leslie. Please make sure that boy is given the best care under my watch.” His mask carefully slid over the disappointment he felt. 

 

“Of course Bruce, of course.”

* * *

“Damnit get a hold of yourself Jim” The commissioner paced back and forth the hallways of Gotham Memorial Hospital. He just had to know, he had to know.

 

After the tip Batman had given them the night before they searched the caves, gathering evidence against the Joker. 

 

One of his men had radioed him over to one of the rooms full of cages. 

 

“Look boss, there’s a trap door here. We found it after moving dem cages.” 

 

Jim looked down at it. No wonder Batman hadn’t found it it was cleverly hidden beneath the cage and the cave was not well lit. Only those that really knew that it was there would have been able to find it.

 

He called over a few more men and together they decided it was best to blow it open. 

 

What they had expected to find was a room full of inmates or other metas, with their guns drawn Jim entered the room. Instead of finding a room full of people Jim found found stale air and a single child laying in a small pool of blood. 2 red letters in all caps were painted across the room some in capitals, some in smaller print. But the entire room was worse than all the other rooms combined. And Letters Jim knew all too well.

 

Jim yelled for an ambulance as he knelt down and scooped the child into his arms and carried him out of the room. He was so light. He weighed nearly nothing in Jim’s arms. It was a boy, covered in scars, blood, dirt and grime. 

 

He carried him over carefully to the other side of the room away from prying eyes. Jim sat down in a chair intending to put the boy on the nearest table. But the boy must have sensed this and tightened his grip with what little strength he had. 

 

Jim couldn’t hold onto the boy, a medical aid were making their way through the caves. She’d have to stabilize the boy the best she could until the paramedics could take him to the hospital. So he set the boy down as gently as he could onto the table arm but stayed close, an arm around his neck and a hand around waist. 

 

The boy was unconscious, the room may have been dark but it didn’t hide the scar the boy had on his cheek. A giant ‘J’. Jim could feeling his heart being wrenched open. 

 

Everyone knew Jim was a sucker victims and especially Joker victims. Checking in on them after his long hours at the station, making sure they’re protected from the Joker as much as possible by taking on extra shifts whenever Joker was involved in any crime scene. 

 

He stroked the boy’s cheek thinking how similar the poor boy was like his own daughter Barbara, paralyzed for life by that damn villain. Barbara’s life, hundreds of other’s lives destroyed by the Joker, and they had to live with the aftermath. The boy stirred in his arms. Eyes blinking open warily at him. 

 

“My name is Commissioner Jim Gordon of the GCPD. You’re safe, what’s your name?” He asked the boy, still holding him in his arms. 

 

The boy made no indication that he had even heard him, just staring at him. Jim repeated the message again and got the same answer-blank eyes.

 

Too blank.

 

Jim pulled his hand out from under the boy and waved it in front of the boy’s eyes. They didn’t even blink as he waved his hands again a few inches away from his face. One of his men dropped a toolbox after tripping on the dampness of the cave. While everyone else in the cave jumped as the clang echoed through the cave, but Jim looked down quickly at the boy, he hadn’t even flinched.

 

Oh God… the boy is blind and deaf.

 

Judging by scars around his eyes, and ear the Joker must have beaten the boy’s sight and hearing out of him. The boy trembled in his hands. How could Jim make this right? How could he let them know they were safe? 

 

Jim did the only thing his mind could latch on to. 

 

He brought the boy’s hand in his. Using the boy’s pointer figure like a paintbrush Jim started tracing a figure onto his chest. The boy’s face scrunched up into confusion. 

 

So Jim did it over and over again, everyone in Gotham knew what it meant. Whether they spoke English or Spanish or Chinese, child or adult, male or female, they all knew what it meant. Criminals, civilians, presidents, and it seemed like the entire world knew. 

  
  


 

 

 

Knew what the Bat meant.

  
  


 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three coming soonish? Maybe faster is you leave a comment ;).


	3. Chapter 3

“Fuck it all Ubu” she cursed under their breath as she climbed the steps to the third floor of Gotham Memorial Hospital.  

 

“Curse you for getting into trouble” A headache was beginning to form in the back of her head, her heels clicked against the floor. Ubu couldn’t even be a good little minion for an hour.

 

An HOUR when she went to spy on her mother in Gotham.

 

An hour! Was that too much to ask for?

 

“You’re here to see Uliqa M'Diq?” The nurse asked her in a pleasant enough tone.

 

“Yes, I’m his cousin” the nurse didn’t say anything but clearly she wanted to.

 

“M’Diq, it’s a foreign name” she added in helpfully and all of a sudden the nurse didn’t question the name. She smiled she just couldn’t let this one pass.

 

“I thought I should tell you but he can only speak a little bit of English so he prefers to be called by his full name anytime you talk to him, it’s the only way he knows if you’re talking to him. Oh and also you have to ask him in super slow English so he can understand you.” She fought to keep a straight face. Maybe now Ubu would understand how much he was being a complete dick last night.

 

Going to a bar and getting drunk and then starting a fight when they were just tying up some loose ends, well, making HER tye up the loose ends. They were lucky they managed to leave before Ubu started another turf war and before  the police were called. How ever they weren’t lucky enough to miss the bullets that flew after them.

 

Ubu has taken so many bullets their Mistress simply told them to go to a hospital after Ubu passed in the middle of the street.

 

The paperwork in the hospital asked for an ID so she filled out the paperwork with some of her favorite made up identities for Ubu. The look on Ubu’s face when he figured out what he was going to be called made her smile with glee.

_____

Tim the next day fortunately had a long weekend. The horrors he had seen definitely warranted time to recover and process all he had seen the night before.

 

All the people no...kids. All of them were all around the same age as he was. The very thought of being kidnapped and destroyed for Joker’s pleasure had Tim viciously pushing the idea down.

 

He was safe here. Right? Joker didn’t know who they are so he couldn’t possibly get them here. Here in the manor with Alfred and Bruce and Cass. And they also had technological security that rivaled the pentagon’s.

 

Safe and sound here, or at least that’s what he held onto like a lifeline during his sleepless night.

 

All he could see when he closed his eyes was the rotting  skull in the first bucket they had found. The smell of decaying flesh and death.

 

He’d spent most of the night by the toilet dry heaving into it and the other part trying to erase the smell he couldn’t no matter how hard he’d try to forget.

 

When he finally was able to get some sleep he could only dream of a 14 year old boy with a ‘J’ burned onto their face. His mouth had been carved open to to resemble a smile from ear to ear.

 

The boy in his dream stood laughing at him and then collapsed to their knees with tears in their eyes.

 

Although the boy was didn’t say anything, the look in his eyes was as if he was asking Tim ‘why didn’t you save me?’

 

Tim couldn’t move to help the boy no matter how hard he tried as the boy’s body disintegrated before his eyes leaving Tim standing in a lake of the his blood.

 

After three or four repeats of the dream he woke up in a frantic haze. Shouting apologies to the boy into the night. Cassandra had woken up from her room and held him in her arms as he cried bitter tears.

* * *

Tim looked up from his spot in the cave, blearily staring at the glass memorial. It was the only place he could think of to try and draw some comfort from. As he sat there he couldn’t help but wonder why.

 

Why wasn’t he be good enough to save them?

 

Why couldn’t he have thought of the missing wing earlier?

 

Why wasn’t he able to save them?

 

What had he missed that had allowed nearly 20 people, no kids to be slaughtered by the hands of the Joker?

 

Tim stood up, touching the glass case.

 

If only he was as good as Jason was. Then he might have been able to find all of them sooner.

 

Tim knew he’d never live up to Jason’s and Dick’s legacy he was only the stand in, the substitute. The one Bruce never wanted, never knew about and sometimes it felt like he never needed.

 

Cass had more of a place here than Tim ever did. At least Bruce chose Cass while Tim had to force him to accept him in their lives.

 

“What would you have done Jason?”Tim whispered to the glass. Staring up at it, willing it to come alive and tell him where he went wrong.

 

To say anything to him at all.

 

How to be a better Robin, how to come out of a fight alive, how to find where Jason disappeared to.

 

But instead like all the times before the uniform stood in all its glory silent, and unmoving.

 

Tim scoffed, how crazy was he? Talking to an inanimate object like some psycho. And on top of that he was talking to a uniform that Jason hadn’t even  worn during his tenure as Robin.

 

Tim remembers all those years ago finding Bruce in the cave one night staring at it in a newly received box, how he couldn’t bring himself to pick up the crowbar and open the box. He remembers finding out the box was shipped only a handful of days after Jason had been declared dead.

 

The colors of the uniform were untouched by Gotham, a brand new suit. The polished Robin insignia, the brightness of the yellow cape, the contrast of the red top and green boots.

 

Tim thought that on top of searching for Jason nonstop Bruce had forgotten to stop the Robin suit’s production, so they kept sending them to the cave. Well, after that Alfred made sure it was the last one they sent.

 

He was there when Bruce had Superman carry in the glass cover and seal it shut over Jason’s uniform. Bruce had meant to do it by himself and Clark but as a family of detectives they all came. Alfred, Babs, Dick and himself watched as they put the Robin to rest.

 

The light in the case flickered on Superman stepped back and all of them had stood in silence in honor of the fallen Robin. He saw Clark give Bruce a look of concern while Bruce in that state stood as stoically as he could muster in front of everyone.

 

Another mask, Tim remembers thinking. Not an outer mask as Bruce had looked terrible that day, swollen eyes, and unshaven face and greasy hair. But an emotional mask. Bruce was never Bruce, there was always something covering up what he felt inside.

 

It kind of hurt that Bruce didn’t trust his family enough to let his guard down to let them all grieve what they had lost together.

 

Alfred lost the closest thing he had to a grandson.

 

Bruce had lost his hope.

 

Dick had lost the closest thing he had to a brother.

 

Babs lost the boy she helped tutor through half of his sophomore year. Jason would never even finish high school.

 

Tim… he knew he lost his Robin. The others didn’t fully realize it but Tim was hurting inside too.

 

Jason was the Robin he had spent years chasing around with a crappy camera hoping to see his Robin.

 

Laughing, smiling, fighting.

 

Alive.

 

Now all he had left of his Robin were hollow pictures only filled with memories of who the Jason really was.

 

Alfred and Babs disappeared into the manor first, Alfred handing Babs tissues as she silently wiped the tears the streamed down her face.

 

Dick had stood further away from everyone and only came closer as Bruce and Clark had stepped away into the cave. His physical state was nearly the same as Bruce’s except Dick had tears and emotions where Bruce did not.

 

He heard Dick all but sob to the glass “I’ll never stop looking for you Jason, I’m so sorry” before running to his motorcycle and roaring out of the cave.

 

And Tim was left alone….

 

Again.

 

Just like he was when he was still living in Drake manor. Living once again with nothing more than himself to lean on and an unachievable goal.   

 

Tim bent down and ran his fingers over the metal words on the plaque.

 

_ “Jason Todd _

_ A good soldier” _

 

And that was it. No words for his son, no words a father would give to remember his son. Tim was pretty sure Bruce thought he was being endearing and honorable but it left bitter taste in Tim’s mind. Just words a commander or a captain would give at funerals.

 

Soldiers.

 

Is that what Bruce thought his family as?

 

Soldiers?

 

Did he only have a family to create his personal army of soldiers?

 

Or were they all just clones of Bruce? All of the Robins has blue eyes and black hair that resembled Bruce.

 

Maybe they were like the clone battalions in Star Wars. Just expendable minds to fight a never ending battle, all for what they believed to be the only way for justice to prevail.

 

But if Tim was telling the truth it felt like a lot of the time all the clones and the bats had more in common then anyone cared to admit. And the one command they had to obey no matter what happens:

 

_ Good soldiers follow orders. _

 

That was the first rule Bruce had taught him and still held Tim to it every night.

 

When he first came to be trained it felt like all Batman and Bruce wanted was another soldier. And so he became another soldier.

 

Tim was sure that if he died in action one day they wouldn’t even notice. He’d just be apart of a number of good soldiers that had died on the battlefield.

 

And that’s what he should be. Tim gave the the uniform one last look. He had to be a good soldier. Like Jason, Bruce didn’t need a broken person. He needed a Robin that could endure whatever Gotham threw at their faces.

 

Tim pushed the Robin insignia on the plaque. A hidden drawer opened up to another glass case that always felt like sticking a knife in Tim’s heart, like a harsh bitter reality check.

 

One day Joker managed to hack a local TV station and broadcast a 30 second clip that rocked Bruce to his core.

 

Green

 

Yellow

 

Red

 

A boy

 

Laughter

 

Begging

 

Red.

 

Silence

 

Blue Eyes

 

Black Hair

 

Red Blood

 

Jason.

 

Pleas to stop the pain

 

Red eyes full of tears

 

A gun

 

A bang

 

Red blood particles flying through the air

 

A dead boy falling to the ground

 

Silence.

 

Black

 

Nightwing didn’t believe that that was the final nail in Jason’s coffin. He kept claiming it was a fake, a dupe Joker sent out just to throw them off the path.

 

Tim deep down inside wanted so desperately to believe Dick and did for a couple of weeks. That is until one night while patrolling Bludhaven together, they found something washed up on the river.

 

Battered worn costume

 

A black and yellow “R”

 

Faded green 

 

A yellow smile painted on over the 'R'.

 

And red

 

So much red.

 

It hadn’t taken long for Dick to break down in the cave in front of where Tim stood now. Bitter tears and pure agony seemed to spill from his soul.

 

The DNA on what remained of the fabric had been Jason’s. A couple of teeth sewn that had been sewn on the tunic it like sequins, only confirmed who it once belonged to.

 

And after that night Dick never came back the same.

 

In the drawer covered by a glass lid held the remains of that uniform. Bruce wanted it burned and the ashes to be buried in the empty coffin meant for Jason. Tim knelt down and touched the glass, recommitted to memory what it looked like.

 

The burning never happened. The longer Tim looked at both uniforms he couldn’t help but cry at the irony. Underneath all the glory of Jason’s uniform held the ghosts that no one wanted to release.

 

The truth the uniform held in its decaying form.

 

Become what Jason Todd was but don’t be what he became.

* * *

 

“He’s stable for now, we have some fluids running through him to stabilize Mr. M'Diq.” The nurse picked up Ubu’s chart. The great brute had a heart monitor and an IV line and his arms and torso were wrapped in several bandages and knocked out cold. She thanked the nurse sitting down to call in the surprisingly comfy couch in the room.

 

She pulled out her tablet and began to read the reports on last night. Good. There was no record of them ever being there. The girl’s eyes darted to the picture on the main screen of the tablet.

 

Damn, she missed him like crazy. He was probably around the height of her shoulders now. The kid grew like a freaking weed now. She turned off the tablet, and headed out to find a vending machine or the cafeteria.

 

“They say he was found under Arkham Asylum” She stopped at the cracked door.

 

“Did you see his scar?” whispered another nurse

 

“His DNA doesn’t even match up to any of our records.”

 

“He’s so banged up he’ll be lucky to remember his own name!”

 

“Sarah, quiet down, we’re not supposed to be talking about this” a third scolded

 

“But Julie, it’s horrific the ‘J’...the commissioner hasn’t left that room for two days now. They say that he was the one that found the boy not the Bats” The rest of what they said was utterly useless.

 

But it still caught her attention, what was Joker doing with this boy? What did Batman miss that the police found? Her Mistress always told her to be wary around the clown and to be as discreet as possible collecting information about him. Her Mistress needed information and if this boy was the key to gaining an edge over Batman, her Mistress would be most pleased.

 

She retreated back to her tablet and hacked into the Hospital’s mainframe. After a couple of minutes of searching she found what she was looking for John Doe, room 332.

After making sure Mr. M'Diq wasn’t waking up anytime soon she set off for room 332.

 

There was a man in the room on the bed fast asleep. Using her training she snuck around the bed with her phone in hand. She took pictures of the boy, or what one could see of the boy through the medical tubing and bandages and pictures of the file at the base of the bed.

 

It was just another boy caught in Batman’s crusade, in her Mistress’ new order people like him would not have to suffer by the hands of those criminals.

 

But something in the corner of her eye made her turn around.

 

The chipped purple nail polish on the boy’s toes made her come closer to inspect the boy’s toes.

 

Chipped purple and a faded yellow stripe.

 

Then it hit her like a freight train.

 

She’d know that color anywhere.

 

Because she had 4 years ago bought it in a drug store on 14th and Founders street.

 

She bought it as a joke chasing down an old friend she hadn’t seen in months and forcing him to let her paint his toenails as a dare. She’d even let him paint her fingernails the purple color. And then placing a yellow stripe down the middle of his big toe nail.

 

And she never saw him again.

 

She painted her nail purple in honor of that boy.

 

Her nails were painted in that eggplant color when she and her Mistress visited the boy’s grave at her insistent begging. Her purple nails placing white daisies on the grave.

 

That night so many years ago was the last time she saw him.

 

She didn’t know how or why or where he had been but all of a sudden it made sense.

 

She knew it, her soul knew it, her heart knew it  and no one was going to tell her she was wrong.

 

Because Jason Todd was alive and Stephanie Brown was the only one who knew.   
  
  


 

 

Talia would be most pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Midterms took up most of my time last week. Next chapter on its way. Comment below to maybe get it to come faster? ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment! I thinking I'll have the next chapter up soon.


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